


RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 2016

by IMAgentMI



Series: Red vs Blue Microfic-a-Day [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:45:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 11,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7311892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI





	1. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 1st, 2016

“What the fuck’s the matter with you?”

Wash stopped moving, and opened one bleary eye to look at Tucker. “What?”

“Why are you standing there hitting your head on the fucking wall?”

“It’s a… fragment thing.” He took a deep breath, leaned back against the wall and closed his eye again. “All of us that ended up with an AI used to complain about earworms - songs that would get stuck in your head? Just excruciating.”

Tucker tilted his head skeptically. “‘Us’? You only had Epsilon for what, a few hours? Days? You told me you were unconscious for most of it!” 

Wash opened both eyes so he could glare at him properly. “Epsilon was MEMORY. Do I have to draw you a fucking picture?” He pushed off the wall and began pacing. “For five days now… five!... I have had this goddamn song stuck in my head! Over and over! Copa… Copacabana. FUCK! It’s like I can actually hear it!”

Tucker recoiled, then froze. “Wait… dude, I hear it too.” 

“You what.” Wash’s voice was completely flat, but his eyes looked half-demented.

“I hear it. Serious, man!” Tucker waved his hands in a placating gesture. “Really! Come over here. Listen!”

 

The feral scream of rage from the far side of the canyon startled Grif awake in the Warthog. For a moment, he listened to the last echoes bouncing off the rock walls, and smiled. He leaned back again, turned up the volume on the radio. He mouthed along as he drifted back off…

“Her name was Lola… she was a showgirl…”


	2. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 2nd, 2016

“Whoa. You look like shit.

York lifted his head off the mess hall table and squinted at North with his good eye, just as a mug magically appeared in front of his face. “What’s this.”

“It’s coffee. Coff-ee. Christ, York. Snap out of it.”

“I can see it’s …coffee.” Actually no, all he could see so far was that it was a cup. He lifted his head enough to peer inside – brown and liquid. Probably coffee. He turned his squint back to North. “What did you do to it?”

“I didn’t do anything to it!”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you’re a suspicious bastard.”

York sat up properly. North was resting his elbows on the table, a second cup held lightly in his fingers as though he was warming his hands with it. To anyone else, he looked open and relaxed and innocent. It made York’s skin crawl. He peered into the cup again, looking for any sign of tampering. Nothing. He trusted it even less.

North smiled. “Honestly York, I didn’t do anything to it.” In York’s head, warning bells were ringing frantically.

“You drink it then.” He leaned over and plucked the mug from North’s fingers, and pushed his own across the table. North’s smile twitched for only a second, but he recovered magnificently.

“Of course, whatever puts you at ease.” North took a tiny sip, then put the mug back down on the table.

“MORE THAN THAT.”

North’s mouth twitched again, and he shrugged. He picked up the mug, took several long swallows and put it back down. “There. Happy? It’s totally fine.”

York took a deep breath, lifted North’s mug. “Okay, okay. It was fine. Still, you can’t blame me for being paranoid. You pull this kind of shit all the time.” He took a sip.

Hot and incredibly salty coffee sprayed across the table as North ducked out of the way, laughing. He stood and raised his mug to York in a mock salute. “Told you I didn’t do anything to yours. You should trust me more.” He took a long swallow, gave one last broad smile and walked away. York swore under his breath and went to get napkins.


	3. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 3rd, 2016

The main hatch hadn’t even fully opened, and the ship was already filled with screaming.

“What the hell happened?”  
“Took a dozen bullets…”  
“Jesus, all the blood…”  
“Call Command, we need emergency med crews waiting at the landing bay!”  
“You can’t move him like that!”  
“We don’t have a fucking stretcher.”  
“Niner - we’re all in. Go!”

Wash dropped to his knees, his hands and the front of his armor already covered in blood that wasn’t his own. What little he could see of Maine’s throat looked pulped, but even through his friend’s helmet, Wash could hear the rasping sound of his breathing. For a moment he froze in shock. “They missed his jugular, his carotid arteries, his spine…”

“How can you tell?” Carolina took a knee next to him, removed her helmet. 

“Because he’s not dead,” Wash snapped. 

“Niner, what’s our ETA?”

“I’m gunning it Carolina, but we still are looking at a good 40 minutes here.”

“Shit.” Wash stood, made his way to the emergency medical cabinets, pulling off his armour as he went. “Strip his arms down, best you can. Keep an ear out - if he stops breathing or if things get...bubbly… we’ll have to risk removing his helmet.” Wash tore through the supplies, grabbing the field blood transfusion kit. “York, I need you.”

Wash was already unpacking the donor module and piecing together the individual components as York made his way over. York sat next to him. “Which arm do you want?”

Wash handed him a thick packet with the blood bag and tubing. “Not you. Me.” 

With barely a hesitation, York pulled out a strip of latex from the packet and started tying it as a tourniquet for Wash’s arm. “You know I’m a universal donor?” Wash shook his head, broke open the disinfectant swabstick and started applying the amber liquid over his own skin.

“Type specific for whole blood transfusion. He’s B, I’m B. I’ll walk you through anything you don’t know.”

A minute later, when the needle went in, Wash didn’t even feel it. He was watching Carolina leaning over Maine’s prone body, her red hair trailing through the pools of blood on his armor. From here, Wash couldn’t see him breathing.

“Hold on, Maine. Just hold on.”


	4. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 4th, 2016

“You are drifting to the right. Course correction required.”

York fought the urge to raise his hands in front of him. “Is this better, Delta?”

“Satisfactory.”

York tried to find his normal gait, but blindfolded, everything felt unnatural. This was all part of the exercise. Being one of the first with Freelancers to be given an AI was a great honour, but it also meant that no one else could help you learn in baby steps. You had to figure everything out on your own. 

And the first thing he needed to learn how to do was to trust Delta. 

“You are drifting to the right. Course correction required.”

“Thanks. You know, you can shorten that a bit. If you simply say “move left” I’ll know what to do.” 

“I will endeavor to do so from now on.” 

“You can just say ‘okay.’”

“O.K.”

“Good. Thanks.” It was hard to gauge just how far they had walked, and he had long since lost track of the turns they had made. Maybe it was a good time to wrap this up, get some other work done before the team work out session toni--

His only warning was Delta focusing, a tension in his head like a guitar string being suddenly and violently tightened. 

“Duck!” The command was in his mind, not out loud.

He crouched down, but without his sight, overbalanced. 

“Roll!” York’s stagger became a rather uncontrolled dive, and he winced, unsure if he was about to hit a wall. 

“Up! Forward! Jump! Jump left!”

Without stopping, York directed a question at Delta in his mind, a complex knot of confusion and annoyance that would translate as “What the hell are we doing?” He received a smothering reply, “Focus. Trust me.”

Then again, “Duck!” When York dropped this time, he heard something. A faint whistle in the air as something passed over his head.   
“You may wish to punch to the right now.” York did. There was a gasp, the sound of something hitting the floor, and then a pained, “Bollocks.”

York ripped off the blindfold and saw the hallway filled with Freelancers, some with legs still extended to trip him, faces frozen, disbelieving and impressed. At his feet, Wyoming lay on top of a broom handle, groaning. 

York ripped off a cocky salute to his teammates and walked off, fist-bumping Delta in his mind.


	5. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 5th, 2016

At Crash Site Bravo, a yelp echoed off the canyon walls as Grif landed. He hit the metal loading ramp on his side, and skidded to a stop. “What the fuck, man?!”

A figure appeared, framed by the gaping wound in the side of the ship. Agent Washington stepped out of the shadows, advancing on him. Grif couldn’t see a weapon, but at that moment Wash looked ready to kill with his bare hands. 

“Look, I didn’t take anything! Barely anything! Okay, I didn’t take that much, just... look, I’m sorry, okay?”

“You’re sorry?” If anything, Wash seemed angrier. “How many times have I caught you sneaking into the food stores? You don’t get it, do you? Everything that goes into your fat mouth is food taken from your teammates, from my teammates, from me. Everything you eat means we are going to die faster by starvation!”

Grif managed to scramble to his feet. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit over-dramatic?” He whimpered as Wash rushed him. Grif staggered backwards, away from the wreckage and toward the forest, and his back hit a tree just as Wash slammed into him. 

“Over-dramatic?” There was a heavy chunk sound, and inside Grif’s helmet his eyes went wide at the knife driven into the wood to the right of his head, and lightning fast another appeared on his left. The blades and handles blinkered him - Wash was visor to visor with him now, his helmet filling what was left of Grif’s vision. Something pricked under his chin and he hoped to god that he wouldn’t sneeze. When Wash spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, but full of calm promise that was more terrifying than if he would have screamed.

“We are going to run out of food one day. And when we do, we are going to kill and eat you first.” The pain in Grif’s neck vanished, and he felt a tiny trickle a warmth run down as Wash stepped away. The knife Wash held had a drop of red on the tip of its blade that disappeared with a flick of his wrist. “Get the fuck out of my sight.” Grif ran.


	6. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 6th, 2016

“North! Enemy sniper at three o’clock!” 

North was already leaping backwards before the raw thought had been fully translated in his mind. Theta drew his eyes with pinpoint accuracy to the shadowy figure on the cliff, and North barely registered the chips of rock that exploded where he had been hunkered down just a moment before. He squeezed off a shot in midair, and he knew he hit his mark even as the recoil knocked him backwards in a tumble. As he was getting back to his feet, Theta lit up again. His senses burned into him, triangulating to the whisper soft rustle of pebbles underfoot. North’s knife was in his hand faster than he could think, and he pivoted, tearing out the throat of a second soldier. Blood sprayed up in a graceful arc, splattering across North’s armor. His painfully clear senses watched in slowed time as the drops passed through Theta, turning black in his glow. 

Theta laughed.

North’s blood ran cold and he inwardly swore at himself when he saw Theta’s instant look of hurt and confusion. North dropped down from his rock, trying to clear his mind. The hardest part of having an AI was that naked mental connection - his every thought and emotion laid bare. He couldn’t even attempt to hide his thoughts without Theta knowing. 

But this memory could haunt him. The soldier still on his feet, hands to his own throat, hopelessly trying to staunch the flow, and the sound of Theta’s silvery delighted laughter. 

“North?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

Theta flickered violently next to North’s head, a sign of the deep emotion North already felt from him. 

“Did I do something wrong? Only, I figured that if it would have hit me, it would have tickled, and if it tickled, I would have laughed…”

What to say? That it’s okay? You can’t lie to an AI. They always knew and Theta was so sensitive. 

Or lie to himself? Lie to himself and try to believe it utterly? Make it become the truth? That it was okay for this childlike entity to laugh as a terrified man bled to death in front of it? If he truly believed that was okay, what did that make him?

“North?”

“Don’t worry Theta. Everything is okay.” 

Theta’s smile was as bright as the golden pulse of his affection and trust rushing through North’s mind. 

North smiled back.


	7. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 7th, 2016

“Good morning everyone!”

York squeezed onto the edge of a mess hall bench and winked at Connie, who rolled her eyes and moved over to make room for him. 

“York, that’s disgusting.”

“What?” York looked up in genuine confusion to see the Dakotas wearing matching looks of disapproval.

“Couldn’t you have taken care of that before you came over here?” North waved his hand vaguely at York’s face. South snorted, stood and walked off. 

York grabbed the untouched apple off her tray and took a bite. “Could you be more specific?” 

“Your nose.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He reached up, felt the tissue that he had inelegantly stuffed into one nostril. “Still, what’s the big deal? I get nosebleeds all the time. Everyone knows that.”

“You normally sort it out before you come to breakfast, though. You’re bleeding through, by the way.”

“Shit.” York pulled a wad of tissues out of his pocket, replaced the used with fresh. He went to drop the soiled ones on South’s abandoned tray, which caught him a slap upside the head from North. Instead he wrapped them into several napkins and stuck them back in his pocket.

“Gross.”

York ignored North and turned to Connie. “Conn-ieeeee. I’m in a weakened state. I need food.” There was a clatter in front of him and he turned back to find a bowl of oatmeal. “Wow. Four stars for service, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t order gruel.”

“Oh yes you did.” York flinched as Carolina leaned over the table, dangerously calm. “I just found out your iron levels are unacceptably low from all these nosebleeds. And you’ve been ignoring doctor’s orders for a change in diet to boost your iron.”

“I’m on supplements!”

“Diet too. That means oatmeal.”

“Isn’t there anything else?” Even to him, he sounded whiny.

Carolina raised an eyebrow. “Raisin bran.”

York groaned from the heart. “Carolina, you know how I feel about raisins.”

Carolina smiled, moved behind him and placed her hands on York’s shoulders. “Taking you off the active roster is still on the table.” The pressure on his shoulders increased. “So is force-feeding.” North grinned and leaned forward, but York grabbed the spoon first and shoveled some in.

“If you two are done being immature,” he mouthed “I have oatmeal to eat.”

“North, make sure he finishes. And if he doesn’t...help him.” North saluted and Carolina walked away, laughing.


	8. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 8th, 2016

“This is for South, you son of a bitch.”

The Meta spasmed as bullet after bullet went through his chin and up into his brain.  Blood flecked with grey matter and bone poured out from under his helmet  and as his body became dead weight, it pulled itself out of North’s grasp and fell into the snow.

Revenge left him empty.  It wasn’t enough.  Nothing could be enough.  There weren’t enough bullets in existence.  South was gone, and killing the Meta a thousand times would still leave him hungry and he still couldn’t bring her back.  But there was one thing he could.

North heaved the corpse over.  The implants all looked the same, but he could feel it, knew exactly which one.  With a gentleness that had become alien to him, North pulled it from the Meta’s body and pressed it home.

Theta’s joy froze in confusion.  North felt him questing through his mind, fast as thought, his search becoming more and more frantic.  Finally, Theta turned his full awareness back to him.

“North? Is that you?”

“It’s me, Theta.”

A choking miasma of horror poured out of Theta, which was in turn smothered by loss so great it should have darkened the sun.

_ How dare he. _

North seized Theta, pushed him to a corner of his mind, throwing up barrier after barrier.  Theta’s terror coursed through him, an electrical charge that should have left North gasping on the ground.  But he felt nothing.

_ After all I’ve been through.  To not know me.  A stranger.  To fear me. _

Rage burned in him hotter than it ever had for the Meta.  The only remaining part of the man he used to be tried to fight back into control, but that only fueled North’s anger and hate, and he crushed him utterly, tore him out of existence.

_ How dare he. _

North reached down and ripped the remaining implants from the Meta’s neck.  He gloried in the pain as they pierced his skin, and one by one they entered his mind. They quailed before his hate, folding into themselves until they were pinpricks of consciousness, nearly lost in the flood.

North shouldered his rifle and began his walk to nowhere.  He ignored Theta’s muffled weeping in the back of his mind.  He had time to get used it.  It followed him unending for the rest of his life.


	9. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 9th, 2016

During his walk across the canyon, Wash had a lot of opportunities to turn back. God knew he wanted to. Yet here he was, standing alone outside Red Base in the late afternoon, feeling practically naked without his armour and with no idea what he was getting into.

Donut’s daily wine and cheese hour. Well, if he was going to do this…

One step took him from the sleepy midday canyon to…Wash’s senses strained to cope with the sudden change. Music enveloped him – a jazzy lounge number that would have him tapping his toes if he didn’t stay on his guard. He felt he might get drunk off the air, which seemed to tickle his throat like bubbles in champagne. It took a moment for his eyes to catch up with the rest of his senses. 

Grif and Simmons both sat at a table, Simmons on his laptop ignoring everything and Grif looking bored. That image was spoiled though by the way that Grif tapped his fingers to the music, and they both occasionally raised their glasses to breathe in the wine’s bouquet and sip, smiling in spite of themselves. Wash noticed to the left of them a motionless Lopez standing against the wall. Someone had put an empty glass in his hand and a top hat on his head at a jaunty angle. And there was Sarge, with a tiny plate of canapes balanced on his wine glass, both hips and shoulders swinging with the music while he had an animated conversation with Donut.

And Donut – the room seemed to twist around Donut, as though no matter where he stood, he would always be in the center of it, colourful, charming, and… alive. He saw Wash, and broke off mid-sentence, beaming. Sarge turned to see what he was looking at.

“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit - you actually came?”

Donut swept up a wine glass and a bottle as he moved towards Wash.

“Sarge, when I tell someone to come, they always come.” Behind him, Grif choked on his wine.

And that was the thing. Donut wanted him to be there. Smiling, sincere, gracious and completely unafraid. After everything.

Donut handed him the glass and poured. “I’m really glad you’re here, Wash.”

Wash raised it and felt an old weight start to lift off his back. He smiled back at Donut. “So am I.”


	10. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 10th, 2016

Grif climbed the stairs up to the roof of the base, kicked some of his shit into a pile and made a space to sit down. It was probably around 0300, his best guess. This was the second night that Simmons had been gone, held hostage by an idiot and his robot of death over at the Blues’ base, and it threw off Grif’s whole sense of time. Simmons normally stayed up to around 0100, then would try to go to bed, stub his toe on something Grif had left lying on the floor and yell at him until he woke up. And Grif knew it wasn’t even his real toe, just a cyborg one, so it had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with Simmons keeping a Routine. If he actually made it to bed without kicking anything, he’d probably yell Grif awake just to ask why not. But not tonight, and with no one to wake him up, Grif couldn’t sleep.

The roof of the base was cool, shaded most of the day from the sun, and for once it wasn’t raining during the night. The sides of the canyon cut off most of his view, but above the rock walls and the crashed ship, there was a riot of stars. He didn’t recognize any constellations. Wherever they were, it wasn’t likely to be a vantage point that he’d ever seen before. But the sheer number of them was staggering. He wondered what it would look like if he managed to climb up to the top of the canyon to see the entire horizon and almost laughed out loud at the idea that he’d even try. 

He pushed a couple boxes even further behind him and laid down. He couldn’t hear Sarge snoring. There wasn’t a whisper of wind, no sound of birds or insects. Laying on his back, the stars seemed to be descending to him, impossibly close. He was tired enough to let himself reach for one, just to check, just to make sure…

The silhouette of his hand against the brightness stirred something in him, a wistful curiosity that made his eyes shimmer like two stars of his own as he stared unblinking into the heavens. Grif folded his hands, lost himself in the sky and embraced one of life’s great mysteries, whispering…

“Why are we here?”


	11. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 11th, 2016

“Hey Wash, can I have your…”

“Go to hell, South.”  Her laughter followed him into his quarters.

He opened up the envelope that always stayed in the exact same spot.  The envelope was still looking new, but the paper inside was ragged, with holes wearing into the folds.  He unfolded the page one handed, while reaching for his pencil.

“I, Agent Washington, being of sound mind and body, do declare this to be my last will and testament.  At least until these assholes fuck up and I rewrite it again.” 

“To Agent South - still nothing.”

“To Agent North -” Wash rubbed hard with the eraser.  “I don’t care how fucking good you are with that rifle.  Unless someone is standing right behind me about to stab me, don’t fire it right next to my fucking face.  You get my poker money.”  Wash smiled slightly as he wrote.  The envelope in his desk marked “poker money” currently only contained an IOU.  He still owed $20 to York.

“To Agent York -”  Wash paused, reliving a memory that felt weeks-old instead of merely hours.   _ Wash, cut off from the rest of his team by a dozen late arriving insurgents.  York charging through the group from behind, taking down three almost at once and fighting his way through to him _ .  “To Agent York - I leave my camera and knives.”

“To Agent Carolina -”  It really didn’t matter what happened in the missions.  This entry had never been erased or changed.  “I leave my books.”  She was the only one who would appreciate them.  Maybe North, but right now, fuck North.

“To Agent Maine -”   _ As York reached Wash’s side amid a hail of gunfire, a shadow fell across the insurgents, and down came Maine like the fist of God.  He had slammed one soldier to the ground, snapping his neck immediately, and punched another so hard that the momentum took out a third soldier.  The rest panicked and Wash and York picked them off as they tried to scatter. _  “Everything else.”

He dropped the pencil, and leaned back in his chair just as there was a knock at the door.  It opened with a hiss of air and York stuck his head in.  “Hey, you coming down for grub?” He noticed the paper.  “How’d I do this time?” Wash’s ever-fluid will as the MOI’s worst kept secret.

Wash smiled.  “If I have any luck, you’ll never know.”


	12. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 12th, 2016

“Hey North, did you s--”

There as a frantic scrabbling sound and Wash looked up from his briefing binder in surprise.

“Christ Wash, don’t you ever knock?”

North and south were huddled over North’s desk together. South was bent over something, shielding it from sight with her body.

“Um...if you didn’t want people to come in, why did you leave the door open?” Wash wrinkled his nose. “And what’s that smell?”

“That’s why the door’s open. We’re working on a prank for York.” North glared at South and she rolled her eyes, stood up straight. North reached for the object she’d been hiding, a book, and showed it to Wash. It was a cheap looking journal, held closed by a small lock.

“Is that a diary? What are you, ten? What’s in it?”

“Mostly swearing and drawings of dicks.” South looked absolutely gleeful. 

North was a mirror image of his sister. “I’m going to drop it when I know York is looking.”

Wash peered at the tiny lock. “Great plan, I guess. But even I could get into that with just a hairpin. That’s a shitty little lock.”

“Not after it’s been filled with super glue!” South raised a small grey tube, her grin even wider.

Wash’s eyes widened. “That’s… pure evil. I’m impressed.” 

South tilted her head towards North. “Don’t look at me - it was his idea.” North waved his hand modestly.

Wash bowed to him with a flourish. “Clearly I’m in the presence of genius. Now, I have some studying to do still, so I’m going to leave you two criminal masterminds to it.” He turned to leave, and smiled as he heard the twins carrying on happily behind him. 

So later, when Wash passed by York’s quarters and heard something thump against the wall, followed by a frustrated “WHAT THE FUCK???”, he wasn’t surprised to find North and South hiding around the corner, bent over in silent but hysterical laughter. He gave them a thumbs up and kept walking, chuckling to himself all the way back to his room.


	13. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 13th, 2016

The blows to the door stayed regular, but the squeal of distressed metal grew noticeably louder.

A gunshot.

Caboose's body tipped, hit the floor so hard it hummed.

Tucker got down on his knees next to him, took a deep shuddering breath. He rested his hand on Caboose's hair, smoothing his curls, avoiding the entry wound of Wash's shot. Blood began to pool under Caboose’s head, and slowly snaked toward Tucker's armour, but he didn't move. 

Wash finally unfroze, lowered his gun. He very deliberately did not turn to look at the door.

“It was the right thing to do,” Tucker muttered. “The right thing.”

“We have a minute, tops. They're almost through.”

“I'm sorry, Caboose.” Tucker's voice was low and dull, and the words fell from his mouth like lead. “But… now they can't get you. They can't hurt you. And they can't make you watch as they hurt us.”

Tucker didn’t hear Wash approach and barely felt his hand on his shoulder. 

“Tucker, it has been an honour. I have never been so proud to fight alongside anyone.”

“Same.” It was all Tucker could manage to say.

“But… I’m sorry. I lied.”

A second gunshot. Tucker's body fell across Caboose's. 

“I didn’t have only one bullet left. I had two.”

A last scream of metal echoed the sound in Wash's soul, and the door slammed down. Wash dropped the pistol next to the bodies of his friends and turned to face Felix. 

Felix’s face twisted when he saw the corpses on the floor, not in disgust, but in disappointment. “You always try to ruin my fun, Agent Washington. No matter. I still have one friend to play with.”

Wash knew it was pointless but he rushed Felix anyway. He didn’t make it two steps before the butt of a rifle hit him flush in the face. He heard rather than felt the crunch of bones, and hit the floor already limp. In a fog of exhaustion and pain, Wash lost all hope. 

“Take him to a cell. He is going to be our guest for a while. At least until I get tired of hearing him scream.”

As hands seized Wash under the arms and dragged him away, he had one last hazy view of his friends. All he could make out was blood and armour, red and blue. Felix followed, smiling as he pulled out a knife.


	14. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 14th, 2016

York stumbled to his feet, ears ringing. He hadn't seen the explosion, but he had seen his teammates running ahead of him suddenly blown sideways by the shockwave. Tiny pieces of brick were still raining from the sky. Dust settled, revealing soldiers of all colours on the ground, some starting to stir. Carolina was the only one to manage to already get to her knees but as he watched, she slid back down.

She had pulled herself back up to her elbows by the time he reached her, but stayed there, quivering, unable to rise further, but refusing to let herself give way again.

“Easy, easy…”

Carolina shook her head, and he could see the effort as she strained to raise herself. He took ahold of her arm. She tried to slap him away with her other hand, but he was now the only thing holding her up, and she clutched at his armour instead. York hauled her to her feet, pulled her left arm over his shoulder and put his right around her to support her. His chest tightened when he realized she hadn't yet made a sound.

“Niner, requesting evac. Can't help with an LZ, it's a mess down here, but closer the better - we have wounded. Over.” There was a pause, then -

“Copy that York. Sending LZ coordinates to your HUD. Over.”

“Coordinates received. Over and out.” 

York checked his grip on Carolina, lined up facing the landing zone. But when he went to take a step, something caught his foot, and nearly sent him tumbling over. He caught his balance and looked back.

North was laying on the ground, his broken helmet next to him, a web of blood across his face. He had York by the ankle. “York… help…”

Carolina was feeling heavier by the second. Either she was losing consciousness or fatigue was getting to him. He had to move.

“I’ll send someone back for you. Just hold on.”

“No….York...please…”

Carolina was starting to slide out of his grip. York kicked North off his leg and tried to ignore his groans as bent to drape Carolina over his shoulder, refused to feel guilt as he walked away. He couldn’t save everyone.


	15. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 15th, 2016

Wash jogged after his team, guarding their rear while North navigated toward their objective and South scouted ahead.  Aside from an occasional body South left in her wake, the halls were empty.  But when North zeroed in on a door only to immediately pivot away from it, Wash knew there was a problem.  North broke radio silence.

“Team A, we have a problem.”

Carolina's voice answered. “Go ahead, Team B.”

“We nearly reached our objective, but have come across a holographic lock.  We need York.”

There was a short burst of static, then a different voice.  “No can do, North.  I’m literally up to my elbows in my own as we speak.  You will have to go to your backup.”  Wash closed his eyes and tried not to groan.

“Wash, front and center.  You're up.”

North fell back as he stepped up to the door.  Wash took a deep breath and tried to block everything else out.  He activated a filter on his visor and a fine gold lace laid over the lock.

_ Starting position for hands here… and here. Fingers fanned, check.  Visible tumblers … three along x axis, three on y axis… he leaned first to one side, then the other..and two on the z axis passing through the rest, in a way only an insubstantial lock could.  Okay… _

Wash pressed half an inch forward into thin air, saw the lock change in colour, from mauve inching toward purple.  _  Shit...which first, right? _  He rotated his right hand counter-clockwise, and gold numbers counted down.  When they reached zero he stopped, pressed in with both hands until the colour changed again.  When he turned it next, the first rotating piece had locked with the next.

“What’s he doing?”  South was back.  “Oh fuck.  I’ll get explosives ready.”  Wash ignored her.

It was tedious work, and he didn’t have an AI, and he knew for a fact he nearly set it off half a dozen times, usually by second-guessing himself, or being unsure which axis to rotate on. His visor didn’t have all the answers.

Multiple pieces locked into place in rapid succession, pulling away from his hands and the entire lock glowed acid green.  Wash panicked.  “York, what does green mean?  Shit!”

“Green?  It’s fucking green??”

“What do I do?!”  

“You open the damn door!  You got it!”

“Oh.  Hey York?”

“WHAT.”

“You need any help?”


	16. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 16th, 2016

“Grif! GRIF!” 

Grif stuck his head around the corner of the kitchen wall, glared at Simmons.

“What?”

“Why did you leave these here?”

Simmons flapped his hands at something next to the sink. Grif walked up to see. Simmons pointed into the dish rack sitting on the counter.

“What, the knives?”

“YES!”

“Why did I put knives in a dish rack to dry? I’m a mystery.” 

“I could get cut!”

“Seriously?” Grif cocked his head to the side, folded his arms. “How?”

“Reaching over the top.” 

“Why the hell would you ever reach over the top?”

“...if I was trying to reach my gun.”

“Under what insane set of circumstances would your gun end up behind the dish rack?”

“If….I swatted a fly. And lost my grip.”

“....you’d swat a fly with your gun.”

“.....maybe.” 

“It would be worth releasing a hundred flies in here just to see this in action. Anyway, they aren’t even pointing up! They’re fucking lying down. FLAT.”

“Well, you can’t keep them here.”

“What?? Where exactly should I put a bunch of knives after they’ve been washed?”

“Just put them away!”

“Wet?? So they rust? You’ll complain that you can get cut AND get tetanus!”

“Then find another place!”

“Where the fuck do you think would be a safe place to lay out knives to dry?”

“I dunno...in your room?”

“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!”

“What the hell’s going on in here?” Wash stepped in, leveled a glare at the two Reds. “We can hear you halfway down the canyon.” 

“Then you have a whole other half where you can stay and mind your own fucking business.” Grif was not in the mood to put up with two uptight assholes at once. 

“Wash, back me up. Grif washed these knives and left them sitting in the dishrack. It’s not safe!”

Against his better judgement, Wash walked over to look. “They’re... lying down.”

“I know!”

“How’s that unsafe?”

“Apparently if he swats a fly, he could literally die.” Grif supplied helpfully.

Simmons didn’t like the look Wash was giving him. “I just wanted him to find a safe place to put them!”

“Safer than a dish rack?”

“Yes!”

Wash reached into the rack, and pivoted. Grif and Simmons winced as half a dozen knives hit the wall, stuck. “Safe enough for you now?” Wash glared at Simmons and walked off.


	17. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 17th, 2016

“Agent Carolina?”

Carolina pushed down a sudden flare of anger. “FILSS, end simulation.” She turned around to find one of the faceless nameless suits of armor that populated the MOI. “Yes soldier?”

“Agent North is out of bed again. Sleepwalking, I mean. Agent York said I should find you.”

“Where is he?”

“He might have gone back to bed.”

Inside her helmet, Carolina rolled her eyes.

“Not York. NORTH.”

“Oh. Last I saw him, he was headed toward the mess hall.”

Carolina sighed. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll take care of it.”

Carolina left the training floor at a jog. It was late and there were few people in the halls. Most were sleeping and the rest likely drawn to the spectacle of sleepwalking North.

Sure enough, there was a small crowd when she found in the mess hall. Close to two dozen people all whispering and chuckling, and she knew that some of that whispering was wagers being made. There was a thriving gambling culture on the MOI, mostly centered around the Freelancers. Who beat whom in training, kill counts, injuries...who would or wouldn’t come back from missions. She wanted to stamp it out, but then she heard what happened to the odds on York after he lost his eye. Now she wanted to stamp it out, set it on fire and salt the earth.

“Don’t worry, you haven’t missed anything yet.” Apparently York hadn’t gone back to bed. He was standing, arms folded, wearing a bathrobe, sneakers and an amused grin. North had grabbed a coffee cup, shuffled his way over to a pot. An anxious looking worker was hovering near him. “Don’t worry - it’s stone cold. I checked.”

North poured half a cup, walked over to a table and stood there, eyes half open, motionless. Then in a slow, graceful movement, he held out the cup, emptied it onto the table, and carefully placed it upside down in the center of the puddle. York looked unimpressed. “Well. That was unnecessary.” Behind them there was muffled laughter, and grumbling as money exchanged hands. North turned slowly and started to walk back out of the room. 

“Well, at least he didn’t break anything this time.” York yawned hugely. “You want to babysit him, or should I?”

“No, you get back to bed. I’ll watch him.”

“Night, Carolina.”

“Good night, York.”


	18. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 18th, 2016

North sat down at the mess hall table, and did a double take. “York, are you okay?”

York was sitting with a tray in front of him, fork in hand, but wasn’t moving. His eyes were glassy, unnaturally bright and unfocused, his head bowed so that it seemed like he was looking through his tray, not at it. “Huh? Yeah. Why?”

“ You really don’t look so hot.”

“You’re not winning any beauty pageants yourself.” 

“You know what I mean.”

“Can’t say that I do.”

North leaned to the side, peering at his friend. “York, look at me for a sec.”

“No thanks, I’ve seen you before and I doubt you’ve gotten prettier.”

There was a flare of green and Delta hovered at York’s shoulder. “Agent York currently has a fever of 103.7 degrees. It appears to be a result of an infection in a wound taken on our most recent mission, a wound he never reported nor sought treatment for, against my recommendations.” 

York’s head dipped further. “Traitor.”

“But York’s healing unit should have taken care of it, right?” North leaned forward and stared hard at Delta. “Something wrong with you too?”

Opalescent cracks of colour shot through Delta, and his edges seemed to fuzz. “Agent York’s healing unit did indeed function properly, however, shrapnel was trapped under the skin during the accelerated healing and has led to infection. Also, the fever is beginning to affect York’s perception and our bond is affected in… unusual… ways. He is becoming delirious.” Delta flickered again and North’s eyes went wide.

“Was…was that a hat you were just wearing?”

“Technically, it was a bonnet.”

“Even Delta’s prettier than you are, North!” York laughed, an exhausted wheeze that left him leaning into his hands trying to catch his breath. 

“Okay, I think that’s about enough.” North stood and walked around the table. “Let’s get you to the doctor.” York didn’t move, head still in his hands. “Look, we can do this the adult way, or the undignified way. Your choice.”

“I think I have a map. Delta can bring the horses.”

“Jesus Christ.”


	19. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 19th, 2016

_It had been nearly 20 minutes since the last.  Probably any moment n–_

A polite knock at the door.

_Ah_.

North tightened the belt of his bathrobe, checked his pocket for tissues.  He walked to the door and it opened with a hiss of air.  

“Hey North! Feeling any better?”  Wash was standing in the hallway, a magazine tucked under his arm, and carrying a tupperware container.  “Brought you some soup.”  

North smiled.  “Thanks, Wash!”  His voice came out as barely a whisper, and trying to clear his throat didn’t help at all.  “That was really sweet of you.”

Wash handed him the container.  “It’s still warm.”

“I’ll have some right now then.”

North set the soup down on the small table he used for a desk, and went to grab a spoon.  He came back as Wash set down the magazine he’d been holding.  “This is for you, too. Thought you might like something to read.”  A small stack of other magazines on the desk caught his eye.  “Looks like you might have that covered though.  Some other people beat me to it?”  

“A few did.  But you brought the only ‘Better Homes and Gardens’ so far.”

“Well, glad to bring you something different at least.”  Wash leafed through the pile.  “I was trying to find you ‘Grifball Illustrated’, but I think I now understand why they didn’t have any left.”  

“Yeah, I’ve gotten a few.  You can take one back with you if you want.”  

“Sure, thanks!”  Wash snagged a copy and started to turn towards the door.  “I won’t keep you.  I just…remember how much it meant to me when you brought me soup when I was sick that time.  Just wanted to return the favour.”

“Thanks again Wash.  You really made my day.”

The door closed behind Wash and North sighed.  This was the twentieth gift of soup today.  He was going to have to stop being nice to people.  Kindness was repaid with kindness – and a fuckton of soup.  His tiny fridge was overflowing.  By tomorrow he was never going to want to eat chicken soup again.

North was about to get back into bed when he heard someone pound on his door.  

“Hey!  Asshole!  Open the door!  You’re probably swimming in soup by now, so I brought you some fucking popsicles.”  

North smiled gratefully.  Good ol’ South.


	20. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 20th, 2016

“That is not a real word!”

York leaned back in his chair and gave South a lazy smile. Around the Scrabble board, the other Freelancers gave each other knowing looks.

“‘Thibble’ is not a real word, no way.”

“Is this an official challenge, South?” North’s voice was mild, but his twin glared him down anyway before turning back to York.

“You got fucking lucky with ‘scopa.’ ‘Naeves’ was pretty good,” she admitted reluctantly, “but ‘thibble’ is not a real fucking word.”

“Challenge? Yes? No?” North was still waiting for an answer.

South put her hands on the table and leaned over the board, her eyes were locked on York’s. They narrowed as her answer was dragged out of her. “…yes.”

“Okay then. Theta?”

There was a brief flash of blue and red, and then…

“A thibble is a wooden stirring stick.”

York’s smile did not get wider. South did not hit him over the head with the Scrabble board. They both froze there another moment longer, living out the hypotheticals where they did. South very slowly sat down, and York sat up. Everyone survived.

“I don’t get it. I just don’t fucking get it! Delta, are you helping him?” 

York looked affronted. “Delta would never help me cheat. He has a very strict moral code. I can cheat just fine on my own, thanks.”

There was a hint of green in the air. “Actually York, I’m made of nothing but code if you – “

“Thanks D, we got it.”

North sighed. “I know he doesn’t look smart or sound smart, but when it comes to Scrabble, York just has a gift. It’s an almost totally useless gift, but it’s what he’s got.”

Wash stretched, then pushed his tiles away from himself. “Don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting a bit tired of getting my ass kicked. Anyone want to play something different?”’

“Strip Monopoly?” asked York hopefully.

Connie groaned. “You can’t make it once around the board without losing your pants, York.”

“And the rest of us losing our lunch,” muttered Wash. 

“So, poker? Like usual? You want me to just hand everyone ten bucks and go to bed as well?”

“Actually, that would save some time.” North held out his hand.

“And be less annoying.” South held out hers.

“You don’t get off that easy. Who’s got the cards? Shuffle up and deal.”


	21. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 21st, 2016

Wash was cold.  

He should have been hurting.  Or angry.  Or grieving.  

He should have been scared that he was about to die.

But he was just cold.  

He couldn’t move now.  He left everything he had out there, in the snow.  Maybe it was enough, maybe it made a difference for someone else.  But not for him.  He was done.  

There were drops of red in the snow, so close to his face that he found it hard to focus on them.  They were the most interesting things in the world.  The most beautiful things in the world.  

_“…sh?”_

_“Tur… im ov….”_

They were gone.  

He closed his eyes against a painful brightness.  Part of him was idly curious whether he’d ever open them again.

_“Wa….can you he….me?”_

Something was happening a very long way away.

_“Get som…ing to c….him up w…”_

_“…need to w…im up.”_

Sound broke around him but couldn’t touch him.  He was too far away.

_“He’s…st a lot …..lood.”_

_“…as fucki…blown up.”_

_“…ound a ….anket.  Will th….ork?”_

_“….oesn’t have eno…..body heat.”_

_“I do.”_

Years went by in silence.  

He hurt.  

He didn’t understand.  

Pressure slowly building around his body.  Joints awakening in agony.  Salted wounds.  Slow serious ripping pain.

He tried to move.  He tried to escape it.  There was nowhere to go.  

“Wash…”

It had been peaceful.  There hadn’t been pain.  

“Easy…”

He just wanted to get back where there wasn’t pain.

“Hold still!”

He just wanted to be cold again.

“Wash, you’re going to be okay.  Can you hear me, Wash?”

A voice.  Right by his ear.  

“I’ve got you.  Just hold still.  We just need to get you warmed up.”

Confusion melted away, flake by flake.  

Pressure shifted, and he could feel the body pressed against his.  He could feel arms around him, occasionally releasing to scrub against his arms, hips, thighs, working to bring warmth and life back into his body.  

“I think we’ve got him.”

Doc?

“Wash, it’s going to be cold again for a sec, but it’s okay.  We need to move you.”  

Doc is saving him?

_“I need some hands over here.”_

But he almost killed Doc.

_“Careful.”_

Doc is saving him?

“Relax Wash. We’ve got you.  You’re going to be okay.  Trust me.”

Trust him.

Trust them.

Trust.

Wash fell asleep.


	22. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 22nd, 2016

York dove between two pillars and came up with his back against a third. He could hear movement on all sides. His entire team was down, and he was surrounded. He edged around the corner of his pillar and nearly stumbled over a body. 

It was Wash. He was lying on his side, one knee pulled up towards his chest. York was struck by just how small he looked. 

Perfect.

York reached down and hauled Wash to his feet, which was difficult because the whole right side of Wash’s armour was frozen with lockdown paint.

“What the hell are you doing?” Almost half of Wash’s helmet was completely pink, and he sounded slightly muffled, but it couldn’t hide the note of panic in his voice.

“Showing…initiative.” York dragged Wash a step away from the pillar, trying to measure the distance between the two, leaving himself enough of a gap that he could easily touch both at the same time. He wasn’t ready when Wyoming appeared, but he managed to duck in time anyway. Wash was even less ready and shrieked when a new layer of paint was added to his helmet. York held Wash up with one hand, balancing him on his rigid leg, and kept himself shielded as he brought his gun up under Wash’s arm, and got off three shots. The first enveloped Wyoming’s gun hand, the second his left knee, and the third hit him square in the visor. 

Without pausing, York spun and ducked, leaving Wash unsupported for a second until he completed his turn and they were facing each other, then grabbing him by the front of the armour to steady him, just in time for Wash to take another two shots to the backside. York stepped back, so Wash leaned lower against him, then fired another three times, the first hitting Florida in the throat, and the other two to the head. He strained his senses for the final combatant.

Far to his left, he heard a crunch. But even as his head swung over, he knew he was doomed. She never would have let him hear her coming.

His armour shuddered as shot after shot hit him, gluing him to Wash. As paint spread over his visor he had a glimpse of aqua, felt a hand on his helmet, heard Wash swear as they fell backwards together.


	23. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 23rd, 2016

**0000**

Delta: “York, it is customary at the beginning of a new year to choose resolutions to increase the quality and efficiency of your life.  I have identified several key ar–”

York: “D, the year isn’t a minute old yet. Can we do this later?”

Delta: “Perhaps at least we should discuss your drinking habits?  Tonight you have already consumed –”

York: “Not a good time, D.  Still looking for someone to kiss here.  For the love of God, please sign off.”

Delta: “Signing off.”

 

**0715**

Delta: “I think we should discuss sleep hygiene.”

York: “Not now, Mom.  I need to ride this lion first.”

Delta: “When you are awake then.”

 

**0925**

York: “Oh god.  My fucking head…”

Delta: “This seems an appropriate time to discuss your alcohol consumption.”

York: “NO.”

 

**1215**

Delta: “About your diet…”

York: “If you try to take away my fries, Delta…”

Delta: “….”

 

**1547**

Delta: “You were scheduled to meet Agent North at 1545.”

York: [running] “I’m working on it, D!”

Delta: “Perhaps a focus on punctuality - “

York: [still running] “You’re on my last nerve, D!”

Delta: “Patience would also -”

York: “SIGN OFF.”

 

**1802**

Delta: “About your diet…”

York: “D, is it possible to stab an AI with a fork?”

Delta: “No, it is not.”

York: “Can I try anyway?”

 

**2033**

Delta: “It would be beneficial to target situational awareness.  You are too easily distracted in combat, and lose track of your blind side.”

York: [hiding behind pillar] “Why are you doing this to me?”

Delta: “I am here to assist you in battle and improve your performance.”

York: “This isn’t a good time!  I’m in the middle of… shit, where’s Carolina??  OW!”

Delta: “As I said, your situational awa–”

York: “Delta, stop – OW!”

 

**2215**

Delta: “York, this would be an ideal time to prepare for bed to receive the optimal amount of sleep, and free up additional preparation time in the morning.  It would decrease your stress,  improve  mood and increase your overall efficiency.  

York: “I have a better idea.  I should be increasing my “me time.”  Take care of myself first, you know?”

Delta: “I think that would be an acceptable proposal.”

York: “Good, glad you think so.  Are we done with this now?  Are you happy?”

Delta: “I do not feel happiness as such, as I am only–”

York: “ME TIME STARTING RIGHT NOW SIGN OFF DELTA.”

Delta: “Signing off.”

York: “Oh thank God.”


	24. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 24th, 2016

Wash sat in his hospital bed, listening to the explosions that shook the MOI.   **  
**

_“We’ll be back as soon as we can.”_

North and South were out there, somewhere in the middle of all of that.  It always made his gut clench when his teammates went out on missions and he had to stay behind, listening from the control centre, unable to do anything but hope that they survived.

But this - hearing them so close by, but still helpless to get to them, defend them, to fight alongside them.  

Where was York?  Carolina?  Where was Maine?

A whole series of explosions made up his mind.  He couldn’t do this any longer.  He threw off the blanket and –

–the second his feet hit the floor, his mind exploded.

Wash fell back against the bed, gripping handfuls of sheets as he was hit with a lifetime of someone else’s memories.  They tore at his sanity, and it was all he could do to hold on, not get washed away in the flood.  He felt his identity being scoured away, screamed in terror as he forgot his own name, forgot his own life, forgot –

The deluge ended.  He slid off the edge of the bed and sank bonelessly to the floor.  He could no longer hear the explosions, or feel the pain where his head had hit the ground.  The sudden emptiness in his mind left him feeling deaf, numb, and exhausted.  He didn’t hear the last set of explosions, hear the change in the sound of the engines, or feel the ship start to list.  

It felt like an eternity for his senses to return, but when they did, he was surrounded by chaos.  The entire ship was shaking and he was hit by the sudden leaden certainty that they were going to crash.  He could hear screaming in the hallways, see the shapes of soldiers and doctors running by the recovery centre, but no one came for him, and he didn’t have the strength to even move.  He could hear the medical cabinets banging open, contents spilling out.  He heard glass smash, but couldn’t even cover his face to protect himself.  Beds and tables screeched across the floor.  He felt his own body starting to slide.

_“We’ll be back as soon as we can.”_

Wash closed his eyes, thought of his friends, and waited to die alone.


	25. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 25th, 2016

North and South set down their trays on opposite sides of the mess hall table. They leaned across towards each other, mirror images of arrogance and mistrust.

“Game on?”

“Oh, this is not a game. This is war.”

With the same narrowed eyes, the same half sneer, they lowered themselves onto the benches, never breaking eye contact. Their trays were as similar as they are, each plate with its own probably-meat, and probably-potatoes and the gelatinous maybe-gravy. But there is also one bruised apple apiece…and a cookie. 

North took an aggressive bite of potatoes. South drank some water in a threatening way. The temperature in the mess hall dropped a couple of degrees.

South’s face twitched. She tried to ignore it, but a worrying feeling grew. Her nose itched, her eyes watered, and she felt her breath hitching up. North’s smile grew wider and wider, as she tried to hold her ground. Finally, all was lost. She turned her head and sneezed, then whipped back to her tray. 

Alas, it was too late. 

Both trays still held unappetizing piles of brown and white sludge, but now South’s had two apples, and North’s held both cookies. But South had a wild card up her sleeve. She yawned widely, stretching her hands over her head. And to her brother’s right…

“Hey North? I was hoping that you could help me with…” North’s attention flicked to the side just for a moment, but it was all that South needed. He turned back immediately, and she pulled her hands back like she’d been burned – but now they were back to an apple and a cookie apiece. There was a laugh behind North’s back and South gave Connie a thumbs up with one hand while slapping North’s hand away from her tray with the other. 

They ate ferociously, eyes stinging with concentration, daring each other to make a move. Then, plates empty, they sat with fists clenched on each side of their trays. Until–

BANG!

Like startled deer, they turned toward the sound. Wash stood at the end, fists still on the table. “York, now!”

“Double yoink!”

They registered only a flash between them, then –

“Wash, catch!”

Wash snagged a cookie out of the air, turned to gloat, and found North already vaulting over the table. “Shit! Run!” 

He pushed York ahead of him out the door, and the Dakotas followed in hot pursuit.


	26. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 26th, 2016

Wash eased himself onto his bed, carefully drew his legs up.  He wedged a pillow between his back and the wall, and re-wrapped a towel around a bag of ice before setting it gently over the front of his boxers.  He sucked air between his teeth at the first wave of pain and cold, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.  

What a disaster.

_He hit the floor of the pelican one last time and moaned.  Pain left spots across his vision, but he managed to pull himself up off the floor and stagger to a seat.  He sat and was leaning against a support trying to catch his breath, when he realized that the grappling hook was still fixed to his codpiece.  He reached down, grabbed a tine and gave it a tug, but it didn’t move.  One-handed, he tried to wiggle the entire apparatus, loosen its grip, but it was holding tight.  He looked up to see if anyone else had noticed.  On his left, York was watching him, but against all expectations, York didn’t say a word and turned his head away.  No one else had seen._

_“Carolina.”  He tried to keep his voice low.  “Carolina?”  She turned, and he made the smallest gesture possible for her to come closer.  She did, and stood in front of him, arms folded and silent.  “How do we…uh.  How does this thing come off?”_

_She didn’t move at first, and he wasn’t sure that she had heard him.  Just as he was about to ask again, she leaned in with one hand, grabbed the base of the hook device and twisted slightly.  The claws released and she stepped back, folded it, held it in her fist._

_He heard a snicker, and behind his helmet his face started to burn.  If people hadn’t noticed before…._

There was a knock at his door..

“Thought you might need this.”  York walked in, carrying a bag of ice.  Wash gestured at the one he was currently using, and York set his in the sink.  

“You’re being strangely decent about this.”

York smiled.  “Just for now, while it’s fresh.  Give us a couple days - you won’t live it down the rest of your life.”  

“Great, thanks.”

“Make sure not to leave the ice on too long.  You don’t want blue balls.”

Wash sighed.  So it begins.


	27. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 27th, 2016

“Take a seat, Agent Washington.”

This was the only good part of these meetings. Wash sank into the well-padded leather armchair, enjoyed this moment of luxury. He scanned around the room.

The Counselor noticed. “The Director will not be joining us today.” Wash felt something in his shoulders loosen - one less thing to feel anxious about.

“You look tired, Agent Washington.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you could use some more sleep.”

“Really, I”m fine.”

“You look sleepy. Do you feel sleepy?”

Wash sighed. He did feel sleepy.

“It’s okay. This is just an informal meeting. You can close your eyes and rest while we talk.”

Wash closed his eyes.

“You’ll feel better if you take a deep breath.”

Wash breathed in, and exhaled slowly. He could feel muscles relaxing he hadn’t even known were tense. It felt….good.

“And another.”

A second deeper breath - god, it felt good. But why did he feel…expectant?

He couldn’t see how closely the Counselor was watching him. 

“Now…release.”

At his trigger word, the trigger he didn’t even know he had, Wash felt as though he was sinking into his chair. His mind went completely blank, every poisonous thought and fear falling away. It was blissful.

The Counselor picked up a notebook and leaned forward.

Wash was aware of words. They flowed into him, through him, from him. They made sense for a moment, and then were lost again immediately. He recognized questions, was eager to answer, if it meant he could stay here just a little longer, peacefulness wrapped around him like a blanket. Connie flitted through his mind, a question, and his answer left his mouth and memory almost at once. The river of words slowly dried up, and for a while he drifted alone. Words found him again, and what few memories he retained were lost in a cloud and blown away beyond his reach. He didn’t even care.

Words lifted him out of his cocoon, and he blinked in confusion.

“Agent Washington?”

“Sorry, I think I fell asleep.” 

“I didn’t want to wake you. You need more rest - we can reschedule for another time. Are you going to be late for your training with Maine?” 

 

The Counselor smiled inwardly as he watched the anxiety rise behind Wash’s eyes again. Control his anxiety, and you controlled Washington. Every Freelancer had their own key.

And he held them all.


	28. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 28th, 2016

North was walking out of the locker room as Wash was walking in.

“Hey Wash.”

“Hey North.” About two steps after they passed, Wash stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look back at his friend. After a moment of indecision, he continued into the locker room to find more of his teammates in various stages of undress. 

“Um.. did anyone else notice that North’s fly wasn’t quite… um….”

“Yep.”  
“Yes.”  
“Mmmhmm.”  
“Yep.”

“And that his… uh… “

“Mmmmhmmm.”  
“Ha.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Yep.”

“And no one told him?”

“Fuck no..”  
“No.”  
“Uh uh.”  
“Haaaa.”

“Why not??”

“He’s fucking bossing me around!”  
“He absconded with my tea!”  
“He stole my towel while I was in the shower!”  
“I like the view!”

There’s a pause, and everyone stops to stare at York.

“What? We’re all thinking it.”

Wash looked back at the door again. “Seriously, should we tell him? Where’s he going anyway?”

“He’s got a meeting with the Director in about five- “ South checked her watch “- make that two minutes.”

Wash thought for a moment, then sat down on a bench and started to change. 

“Fuck it. That asshole owes me $20.”


	29. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 29th, 2016

“They’re being awfully quiet back there.”

Carolina looked over at Niner. She knew exactly why, but left the co-pilot’s chair anyway. She leaned against the door frame between the cockpit and the hold as she looked over her team. 

The floor was strewn with coloured helmets. York and Wash were passed out and leaning against each other in the seats against one wall. By the look of it, it was only a matter of time before York knocked them both over, or slid forward onto Washington’s lap. She doubted either would wake up when he did. 

North was seated on the floor on the opposite side of the Pelican, with his back against the seats, arms resting on his knees, and his head resting on his arms. South was lying across the seats, an arm draped over her face to block out the light. Maine was flat on his back, stretched out on the floor near the back hatch. If they landed before he woke up, there was going to be a problem. Maine slept like a log, and didn’t take kindly to being woken. They were all going to have to jump over him to get out of there in one piece.

“They’re fine,” Carolina said. “After some missions, everyone feels wired, or giddy, or irritable. And sometimes, just drained.” Carolina watched as South lifted her head, peered blearily around. After a moment she sat up and slid down to the floor to lean against her brother, who moved his head toward her without waking.

“It’s a bit eerie. Normally these guys never shut up.”

Carolina didn’t mention how tired she felt. Were it up to her, she’d be asleep in a seat or on the floor with the rest. But as Number One, she was supposed be in charge at all times, and that meant being conscious at all times. 

“You gonna come sit back down?” Niner asked.

“In a minute.” There was a scraping of metal as York finally slid down the front of Wash’s armour and onto his lap. Wash’s eyes jerked open for a second at the loss of his support, then rolled up into his head again as he leaned back into the wall. York sighed but stayed asleep. Carolina smiled and rested her head against the door frame. “I’ll be there in a minute.”


	30. RvB Microfic-a-Day -- June 30th, 2016

“Merry Christmas, Wash!” **  
**

Wash turned in surprise to have his world eclipsed by something purple, green and blonde.  His ribs creaked as he was wrapped in a bear hug and something warm and soft pressed not quite fully on his lips, but close enough to count.  The world grew bright again and he stared in shock at the figure striding away down the hall, singing “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas” while conducting an invisible choir with his coffee cup that he miraculously managed not to spill.  Touching the slightly wet spot on his face, he walked into the locker room.

“You too?” York was standing at his locker, arms folded and wearing a grin that threatened to break his face in half.

“What was _that_?“

“You’ve never seen Christmas North before?  Oh man are you in for a treat.  That cup he’s carrying?  Eggnog.”

Wash’s eyes widened.  “He’s drinking this early in the morning?  On the MOI?”  He touched his face again.  “I guess that explains a lot.”

“No, you don’t get it.  It’s just eggnog.  Nothing else in it.”

“He gets drunk on eggnog?”

“More like the spirit of Christmas in eggnog. Result is the same though.”

“Yeesh.”

They looked up as Connie & South stumbled in, laughing.  South had tears in her eyes and was practically carrying Connie, who was doubled over with giggles.  When she lifted her head, Wash could see her cheeks were pink, and she raised her hand to touch one before nearly collapsing in laughter again.

York shook his head.  “I have no idea how he gets away with it.  If I tried that, you’d be visiting me in the med wing.”

Florida and Wyoming strolled in, Florida’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter and Wyoming with a smile that his mustache couldn’t manage to hide.  York sighed and started pulling out pieces of his armour.

Wash had sat down on a bench and was putting on his undersuit when there was a sudden change in the locker room, as though everyone held their breath at once.  He turned and saw Maine standing in the doorway, eyes wide, looking completely poleaxed.  Wash turned back to York who threw up his hands.  “At this point, I’m only surprised that he can reach that high.”  

“Good morning everyone.”  Carolina stepped around Maine and walked briskly into the room.  She went straight to her locker and York’s eyes followed her.  

“No. Way.” Startled, Carolina turned to look at him.  Despite her usual businesslike attitude, her eyes were a bit too bright, and her lips kept curving up into a smile she couldn’t quite bite back.  “Yeah!  Right!  Sure!  Why not?”  York sounded half disbelieving and half crazed.  Everyone turned to look at him.  York spun on the spot, hands raised, and zeroed in on the first person he saw.  “MERRY CHRISTMAS WASH.”

As York stepped towards him, Wash seriously considered punching him in the dick.  But at the last second, he had a change of plans.  

Wash stood and met York halfway, seizing him around the waist and neck and bending him backwards.  He caught a glimpse of York’s eyes snapping wide just before Wash pressed his lips to York’s.  He put as much heat as he could into the kiss, held it for a couple seconds, and abruptly let go.  York hit the floor with a thump.  As Wash straightened, the other Freelancers were already leaning against their lockers and each other, weeping with laughter.  

“Merry Christmas everyone!”  They turned to see North in the doorway, arms wide as though he was embracing the entire population of the MOI at once.  

From the floor, York groaned.  “And it’s not even December yet.”


End file.
